


Every Call

by ummmmm



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: AU where Jim gets the murder grandpa he deserves, Fix-It, Strickler is going to be ooc for his depiction after season one, Strickler still cares about Jim he's just an idiot who can't stop putting himself in bad positions, no beta we die like Angor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ummmmm/pseuds/ummmmm
Summary: Jim makes a different split second decision down in the sewers, and it butterflies into  Angor Rot's redemption.





	1. The Sewers

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry- this first chapter is super short. Also I'm writing this on my phone because I am a gremlin. You have been warned! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!:D

Angor Rot screamed with rage. The Killstone had vanished from his fingers. His eyes flicked around to find a clue as to how it had been taken, and they instantly found Jim.

“ _Trollhunter,_ ” he hissed, his eyes stabbing him as he rose fluidly from the concrete.

 _Okay_ , Jim thought, _maaaybe taking the Killstone before confronting an infamous assassin wasn't my best idea._  “Angor, I'm not here to fight.” 

Angor narrowed his eyes. Jim sat on the floor cross-legged without his armor, staring back with determination and terror. “How did you get here without me notic-” Angor spotted the Vespa neatly parked outside of his cave. He _definitely_  should have noticed one of the deafening human machines in the echoing drain system. “What? I…” Angor blinked the confusion off his face. “Nevermind. You say you didn't come here to fight, Trollhunter. So what is it? Have you decided on an answer to my proposal?”

Jim took a breath that he hoped didn't sound as shaky as it felt. “Yes. I have.” He raised his clenched fist. “Your soul was stolen from you, you were enslaved, you called to me for help. And the Trollhunter… answers _every_  call.” He opened his fist.

The ring. His _soul_. Thousands of years of slavery, of the aching, unending _emptiness_. He crossed the remaining distance between them with a leap, grabbing the boy's wrist with one hand and snatching the ring in his other. In one fluid motion he slammed the kid to the ground with the elbow of the hand still gripping his wrist- pinning his neck under his forearm.

Jim's head swam with bursts of light and darkness. He lashed out with his legs and free arm, but without his armor it was like trying to fight an avalanche. “Frrr th’ glerkk-” Jim choked out as Angor pressed harder on his throat.

“Don’t worry, little Trollhunter, I am a man of my word. I will severe the magic tying your mother to Strickler before I kill him.” Angor put on the ring then brought out the knife laced with creeper’s sun. “No hard feelings, but I can't have you getting…”

He stopped dead. His knife was raised above the increasingly weak struggles of the child. “What am I doing?” He whispered, suddenly horrified. He let go of the kid and threw the knife to the back of the cave.

Jim gasped for air the second he was released. Frantically skittering backwards, he alternated between coughing and gulping for air. He struck the wall and dropped bonelessly to the floor, wheezing.

Angor stood rigidly still. The plink of cave water and the gasping whirled together in an awful symphony as the worn soul of a defeated hero warred with the tattered husk of mourning rage it was ripped from.

Jim got up, slowly and painfully, his breathing almost back to normal. He carefully looked over at the hulking figure standing in shock across the room.

“I'm… I'm so sorry.” Angor said, “I’m… thank you. I'm sorry.”

Jim nodded slowly. “No problem.” He croaked as sincerely as he could manage. He gave an awkward wave and stumbled over to the Vespa. He drove away as quickly as he thought could be considered polite.

As the roar of the motor echoed through the tunnels Angor Rot again wondered how in the world he missed it coming in.


	2. Jim's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyy!!! I'm still alive and no longer homelessヽ(；▽；)ノ
> 
> With any luck, the next chapters should come out faster... not that that's... saying much_(:3 」∠)_
> 
> Warning: I wrote this on my phone and didn't check anything, everyone is probably wildly ooc
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!

“You gave it back???” Claire wailed, burying her face in her hands. “He’s an assassin who sold his soul for power! It's not like he's going to use that power for good, like we could have!” 

 

Jim grimaced. “I know! It just… felt so _wrong_. He had me at his mercy in the gym with those pixies, but instead of killing me, he practically begged me to save him. And the Trollhunter answers every call. If I have to help with gnome infestations, then how much more important is it to help someone who had their soul ripped out of them and forced to kill people?” 

 

“You can't answer _every_ call.” Claire said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean, what if Gunmar just asks you to help him take over the world? At some point you have to think about how your actions of helping one person weigh against the possible consequences for everyone else. And freeing a creepy assassin is definitely getting into the dark-dark-gray morality zone.”

 

“I know I can't save _everyone_. I just don't want to, like, _enslave_  anyone either.” Jim sighed softly. “I mean, Claire, I’m stuck being the Trollhunter until I die, and I've come to terms with that. I just really, really can't stand the thought of using my position to force someone else into doing anything against their will. Even something good. It makes me feel sick just _thinking_  about it.” 

 

Her expression softened. “I'm with you all the way, Jim. But please remember- it's not just your life you are gambling with. We're just a bunch of human teenagers fighting a bunch of giant rock monsters, we need as much help as we can get.” She bit her lip. “And- I know it's selfish, but we probably could have used him to help get Enrique back.” 

 

Jimran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, Claire. I'll find a way to save him, no matter what.” 

 

Clairehugged him and felt his breath hitch slightly. “No, no, no, you silly billy. _We'll_ find a way to save him. And you shouldn't apologise. You had to make an impossible decision in under an hour. We'll find a way through this. And thanks for saving me from that pendejo in the van.”

 

“No problem,” Jim replied, his voice only cracking a little bit. “...What does pendejo mean?”

 

“Its… uh.” She panicked. “It means 'stink-breath’. Uh. Aaanyway… if we're late for English again Mrs. Janeth will murder us before any trolls get the chance.” She let go and bolted down the hall. 

The late bell rang. Jim groaned. 

 

 

***

 

 

“I still say you should get rid of Angor Rot. He gives me the _creeps_.” Otto wheedled for the third time in as many hours.

 

“Yes. And _I_ still say that as long as I have _this_  there's nothing he can d-” Strickler stopped dead, staring at the hand he held up to Otto. His finger was bare. The ring was gone. 

 

Otto screamed, Strickler stared at where the ring definitely wasn't, willing it to appear. Distantly, he saw Otto had fainted, but the screaming somehow continued.

 

Oh.

 

He slapped himself to regain control of his vocal cords. Strickler cleared his throat awkwardly as he shoved the panic down to the special place inside where he shoved all his unnecessary emotions, then stepped over the unconscious, Otto-shaped lump.

 

Don't focus on the problem. Focus on the solution. He steadied his breath and started walking. Should he leave the country? Maybe, but Angor _was_  the world's greatest assassin and tracker. Should he beg Jim for forgiveness? No, Jim would never forgive him for threatening his mother. _For good reason._  His traitorous conscience whispered as he mentally beat it back with a stick. You would _think_ any remnant shred of kindness in him would have shriveled up and died long ago after all the things he did under Gunmar. But it always came creeping back, like a kicked puppy. Pathetic. And it always caused more harm than good. He had thought that indulging in secretly caring about one of his more troubled students couldn't possibly go wrong, and look where _that_  had gotten him. 

 

It was kinder by far just to kill the boy now than to let Gunmar get his hands on him. He knew that all too well. 

 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he steered himself towards his car, scanning the quiet (maybe, _too quiet?_ ) parking lot. It was still daylight, if barely. Angor was an extremely skilled tracker, but nowadays the game was played differently than centuries ago when Angor Rot was last free. He would have to move countries, change his name, make a new life for himself. Maybe even cosmetic surgery? Hide and run for the rest of his long life and pray that the killing machine he had unleashed on the world would find more interesting prey than him.

 

He shut the door behind him and started the car. The nearest airport was, oh, about 2 hours away in the evening traffic. He glanced again at the sinking sun. 

 

He was a dead man walking.

 

A hand clamped on his shoulder from behind. “I'm sorry, Barbara.” He whispered under his breath to himself as he waited for the assassin's knife to puncture his back.

 

“Stop talking about my mom, you creep!” Jim spat, “Just leave her alone!” 

 

“JIM???” Strickler had never been so happy to see an emotionally unstable teenager with a giant sword glaring daggers at him from the back of his car in an empty parking lot. “I thought? but- Angor- the ring?” he sputtered. 

 

“Yeah, exactly. We need to talk.” Jim stated. “Angor is free and I will protect you with my life _if you_  free my mother from the curse.” 

 

Strickler raised an eyebrow. “You need to work on your persuasion. But I agree.” 

 

“There are ways to break the curse withou- wait. You do?” Jim blinked. 

 

“Yes. I will not survive the night without the ring to protect me, and your mother does not deserve to die for my mistakes.” Strickler said quietly. 

 

“I _will_  protect you. If you free her.” Jim sat back and let his sword dissipate. 

 

 _I’m not worth protecting_. “Good. Let's get going.” 

 

The drive to Jim's house was awkward, to say the least. A thick silence blanketed the car with a smothering tension. Strickler's grip on the wheel tightened slowly as the sun crept past the horizon. 

 

“When does your mother get home?” Strickler asked, cutting through the unbearable silence. 

 

“I'm not- She hasn't really been, uh, talking to me lately, but usually on Fridays she gets home early. If you called her and asked if she wanted dinner tonight, I bet you could find out.” Jim fidgeted with his seat belt uncomfortably and he stared out the window. 

 

“She hasn't been talking to you? What's happening? Is she ok?” Strickler blurted. He cursed himself, he didn't have _time_  to help Barbara or Jim. He was already dead. 

 

“She's okay- she's just... mad at me. Or worried, I guess.” Jim said quietly. 

 

Strickler glanced at him in the mirror. His face was tight and his _eyes-_ his eyes looked like they were grieving. 

 

And just like that, Strickler knew he couldn't hurt Jim again. Dammit. This was the kid who tried so hard not to be a burden to his mother that he had looked like he was carrying the whole world on his shoulders, even before he had taken on the mantle of Trollhunter. He could indulge in letting himself soften. 

 

After all, he was going to die tonight anyway. 

 

“I'll try to talk to her then. I never did sit down and talk with her about how you are overwhelmed and stressed.” Strickler decided out loud. 

 

“I'm not-! I'm doing fine!” Jim protested. 

 

Strickler gave him a quick, pointed look over his shoulder. “I've been a teacher for several hundred years now. I like to think I can tell when I have a student on the edge of their breaking point.” He said dryly. “And that was _before_  you decided to go launch yourself into the middle of a secret civil war.” 

 

Jim scowled. “I didn't _decide_  to become the Trollhunter.” He muttered. “Do you know how many times I tried to get this stupid thing to choose someone else?” 

 

Strickler scoffed “Are you telling me that the trolls _forced_  you to become the most valued member of their society?” He asked with a laugh. “They don't even _like_  humans.” 

 

Jim sighed and pulled his eyes away from the window. “Ugh, whatever. So how will we break the spell on my mom?” He asked, blatantly changing the subject. 

 

Strickler almost winced. He must have said something wrong for him to suddenly close up like that. Jim had been veritably pouring his soul out to him even when he had been an enemy tormenting him just hours ago. He still could be, as far as Jim knew. _Geez._  He thought. _How desperate is this kid for someone to rely on if he's telling_ me _this stuff?_  He felt another wave of protectiveness for him wash over him and sighed. _I guess this is just my life now._  “Uh, right. The spell.” He said, forcing away his thoughts. “There is a potion that can undo most curses of this nature. I have all of the ingredients with me.” 

 

“It won't… hurt her, right?” Jim asked nervously. 

 

“It's just as unnoticeable of a sensation as getting linked in the first place is. It's a spell designed to be as stealthy as possible to the victim as it is relatively easy to break or take advantage of.” Strickler soothed. “Ah! We're here.” He pulled up to the house. 

 

Jim got out and ran up to the garage door to put in the code. Strickler finished parking and followed behind him. 

As Jim stepped into the dark house the light switched on. He flinched, freezing like a deer in front of a semi. 

 

“ _James Lake Junior, do you know what time it is?_ ” Barbara hissed from the kitchen. 

 

Jim shrunk. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just-” 

 

“If you're just going to tell me a lie, I don't want to hear it. Ok? If you won't tell the truth _I don't want to hear it!_ ” Barbara glared at him. 

 

Jim twitched. “Fine! I stopped time today to steal a ring, then I went to the sewers to give a thousand-year-old rock-monster assassin his soul back, and then I got a detention, fought some gnomes, and I lost track of time!” 

 

Barbara jerked as if she had been slapped. Her face twisted, half rage and half hurt. “You,” she yelled, “ _remind me more of your father every day!_ ” 

 

Jim's breath hitched, then suddenly he was rushing past a frozen Strickler and disappeared into the darkness. 

Barbara ran to the door. “Jim wait! I didn't mean it! I'm so sor-” She halted, staring at Strickler in horror. 

 

He was still standing in shock. As he registered her stare, he forced his gaping mouth to shut. 

 

“Walter? I- what are you-” she crumpled to the floor and started sobbing. 

 

 _Shit._ He wasn't trained for this. Still, he didn't have long to live and he had a promise to keep. “Ah, Barbara. Don't worry, he's just sitting under that tree there. He probably just needs some time to cool off a bit.” He said, lying through his teeth. “Let me make you some tea. It always helps me to calm down.” 

 

She sniffed “Are you… sure he's ok?” 

 

He gently pulled her to her feet and guided her into the kitchen. “Yeah, I think he just needs to blow off some steam.” 

He sat her at the kitchen table and went into the kitchen. As he boiled the water, he set up the ingredients for a basic dark magic curse-breaker potion. This particular variety would be effective immediately if both linked parties took it, but it required a lot of energy from the body. He would have plenty, but a human like Barbara would probably feel exhausted and drained. He put tea in a tea ball then added a chip of a Heartstone from his wallet and a few of the herbs he always kept with him in case Nomura or Otto tried to poison him again. He added the water and whispered the incantation as the magical ingredients were absorbed into the water. Then he added sugar and a splash of milk for flavor. Perfect. Even Nomura probably wouldn't be too ashamed of this tea. Now he just had to get her to drink it and she would be safe from him. 

 

He carried the teapot and two mugs to the dining table. “Tea's ready.” He said quietly. 

 

“I just don't understand. We used to be so close. He used to tell me _everything.”_ She whispered. “Did you see those contusions on his throat? Those are fresh.” She wiped tears from her eyes, smearing her light makeup. “Almost every day he comes home with something else, a bruise, a limp, a cut. He tries to hide it and I'm so _worried_  for him. I couldn't stand it if I lost him too. I just don't know what I would do, and I don't know how to help him.” 

 

“I've been wanting to talk to you about that. Jim has been having... trouble at school, but I know he's a good kid, and smart. I've been trying to get him to talk to me, but he needs help. Maybe even, ah, professional help.” 

 

Barbara's breath was uneven and her hands shook minutely as she took a sip of tea. Her brows slowly knit together. “But,” she began slowly, “isn't he already seeing the school counselor?” 

 

Strickler frowned. “Mrs. Hamlin? I don't think he is, but I may be wrong. I'll find out and let you know as soon as I get word.” 

 

“Mrs. Hamlin? But then… what does Mr. Blinkeh teach?” Barbara asked, panic rising in her throat. 

 

“Blinkeh? We don't have a Blinkeh at Arcadia High.” Strickler said slowly, finishing his tea. “I'll check with some of the nearby schools.” He let himself relax as Barbara finished her tea as well when he realized that Blink _eh_ was Blink _ey_. Well, too late to go back now. “I'll see if he's one of their counselors.” 

 

Barbara nodded, concern etched into her face. “So what options do we have with getting Jim help?” 

 

“Ah,” Strickler began, “so there are several options, but, as his parent, I will need your signature for them as he is underage and also because I suspect he may deny needing the help.” 

 

 

*** 

 

 

It was late when they finally figured out a plan for their intervention. Barbara had thanked him and all but collapsed on the couch out of exhaustion. Strickler left the house, closing the garage behind him. There was no sign of Jim. Good. There was no reason for the kid to get hurt on his behalf. He climbed into the car and began the drive back to his own apartment. 

 

A muffled sniffle came from the backseat. Strickler slammed on the brakes. There was a soft sound of a face smacking into the back of a seat. 

 

 _“Ow,”_ complained Jim. 

 

“What are you doing?” Strickler hissed, trying to calm his thudding heart. 

 

“Um, protecting you? Because of our deal?” Jim replied nasally, pinching his nose and wincing. “I think you broke my nose.” 

 

“That's why you wear your seatbelt and don't break into people's cars.” replied Strickler. 

 

“Hey! Why are you turning around?” Jim asked as Strickler made a U-turn, muttering about kids these days. 

 

Strickler scowled. “I am not letting you get killed over me. Angor will destroy you.” 

 

Jim grit his teeth. “Since when do you care?” He bit. “Weren't you trying to murder me like, _yesterday?”_  

 

Strickler sighed. “Yeah, well I was an idiot yesterday. I blinded myself to what I was doing with my foolish pride and greed.” 

 

“I won't argue with you there, but I think he's different now that he has his soul.” Jim argued. “He didn't even stab me.” 

 

“Once again Jim, not very persuasive. I can start tutoring you on how to make a convincing argument. I am a spy and a teacher, after all.” 

 

Jim flopped dramatically against the window. “I really don't have time for _more_  lessons. Anyway, he seemed pretty reasonable to me? Its at least worth a try to talk with him. If not, maybe we can set a trap as a backup or something. It's better than just giving up, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Strickler started, “but _why_  are you so insistent on saving me? Why not just let me get myself killed? After all, I am your enemy and even yesterday I was trying to kill you. Why risk your life for me?” 

 

Jim hesitated. He shrugged. "I don't want to be the kind of person who would knowingly let someone I used to care about die just because we're fighting now." 

 

Strickler's chest felt oddly tight as the car slipped into the night.


End file.
